I’ll never forget the drive up to Penmaenmawr – that classic Welsh holiday start where everything’s going swimmingly until it isn’t. We’d piled into the car in Manchester, full of beans after a greasy service station breakfast, winding our way along the A55 with Snowdonia’s peaks teasing us in the distance. Then, just past Conway, the heavens opened. Proper biblical rain, the kind that turns your windscreen wipers into a blur. I was convinced we’d end up in a ditch, white-knuckling the wheel while the kids in the back chanted “Are we there yet?” like a bad pop song. But we made it, emerging from the downpour to this stunning Tudor hall perched on the hillside, its lights glowing like a welcome beacon. First impressions? Blown away. Sea views crashing into mountain panoramas – it was like the landscape had rolled out the red carpet.

Stepping inside, you could feel the place was built for proper unwinding. Nine bedrooms, all cosy and inviting, with space for everyone (we had 15 of us, including a few extra in the sleeping nooks). Off-road parking was a godsend after that drive, and the generous living spaces screamed “kick off your shoes and stay a while.” We’d booked it for a family get-together, but honestly, from the off, the plan was to do bugger all – and it suited us down to the ground.

The joy was in the sloth, really. Mornings started lazy in the sociable kitchen/diner, pulling up stools at the breakfast bar for endless coffee and toast. No rush, just chatting nonsense while someone fiddled with the plans (or not). We’d drift out to the terraces and gardens, breathing in that crisp sea air, mountains rolling away to the coast. On a sunny spell – and there were a few – we’d flop on loungers with books, the barbecue forgotten until supper. I devoured a battered paperback I’d been ignoring for months, the kind with dog-eared pages and a plot that didn’t demand much brainpower. Perfect.

Rainy days? Bliss in the sitting room, sofas swallowing us whole as we recapped... well, not much. Or down to the games room for a desultory game of table football or pool, laughing more at our rubbish shots than anything competitive. The console flickered away ignored; it was the hot tub that stole the show. Evenings, we’d pile in under starlit skies, bubbles churning, steam rising as we gazed at the dark sea and valley silhouettes. No need for epic hikes up Snowdon or coastal rambles to Llandudno – though Penmaenmawr’s beach was a five-minute wander if guilt got the better of us. Nah, we embraced the slowdown.

There was this one moment, sinking into the hot tub after a day of precisely nothing, watching the sun dip behind the peaks, that hit me. Life’s always rushing – work, kids’ schedules, the lot. Here, time stretched out lazy as a cat in the sun. I caught myself smiling at how daft it was to travel miles just to sit still, but crikey, it was the best recharge. We left fatter in the soul, already plotting a return to do even less. If you fancy switching off proper, this corner of North Wales is your spot.